


Carmilla's Final Philosophy Paper

by openionsandpaper



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openionsandpaper/pseuds/openionsandpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla's final paper for her philosophy class. Featuring an alluded to tiny gay and unexpected emotional capacity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carmilla's Final Philosophy Paper

Carmilla Karnstein

Philosophy 499

Silas University 2014

Final Paper

 

Particles

There exists in this world a gap.

                Well, to be fair there exists in this world quite a few gaps. Hilarious middle-school teeth gaps. Infuriating, misogynistic pay gaps. Coveted thigh gaps. But my favorite gap is a very different type of jump. It lies between we can know, and what there is to learn.

You see, we are given brains with a wonderful feeling of infinite-cy, harboring this feeling that we can never stop learning, that we can know anything, everything. But then we are gifted with a world just slightly too big to ever actually achieve such a goal.

So when we die, it is usually because we simply sputtered out, our engines broken down from delightful overuse as we lay spent on the track. Not because we crashed into a wall.

This brilliant delusion is what keeps us sane, yet staring up at the stars.

I heard a legend once that said the sky is nothing but a dark blanket and stars are the little holes in it through which we can see Heaven. I don’t believe that. I don’t think that our entire lives are spent underwater, under tar.

To me, stars are particles. Elementary particles whipping around and living and dying in all their explosive glory. Elementary particles, those few quarks and boson and whatnot that make up our entire world, they are the primary colors. Those few stock hues that paint our entire existence.

I believe that falling in love is the worst thing that can happen to a writer and the best thing that can happen to a person.

As a long standing inhabitant of this Earth, I cannot with certainty say that I have ever fallen in love. I most certainly have fallen in hate, but let’s just say that cynicism has a much larger gravity field.

I used to fear that I may have already seen all of the pretty things in this world. Like every single day and night sky. Have you ever seen something beat black and blue so beautifully?

And I have always enjoyed those bitter things, the sultry slick metallic stings on my tongue.

 But this time when I stand in a dark room, with nothing but candles in my nose and stars in my eyes, life tastes sweet. Like if a cupcake is good, you want to buy the whole bakery. But if a cupcake is perfect, you never want to try another pastry ever again.

I have never put stock in the heart. The heart is a complicated feat of circuitry and biology that pumps blood. Which I _duly_ appreciate. But as far as emotions, I feel that the heart has no responsibility to be our reservoir.

And after consulting with many, many highly-educated study buddies, I used to think I didn't feel those things. They just kept me occupied. Now I know that I don’t “feel” these things. But they definitely occupy me. They inhabit me. They make blanket forts behind my eyes, and eat ice cream on yellow pillows inside my ears. They blow up within me like an over-enthusiastic yet under-experienced clown making balloon animals inside my chest

I thank biology and neurology and apologies and am so happy that I don’t know what it feels like to come home.  You see, to come home one first must leave. But somewhere in between a dorm-sized window and standing on memory-soaked sidewalks there is a gap.

I don’t know intimacy.

But I do know infinite-cy.


End file.
